Credits

Plot Information for Askavi Terreille

For nearly two centuries Askavi floundered, brought low in the wake of the Red Queen’s war. The institution of one court with its Two Queens and the end of restitution payments promises a brighter future. Still, War knocks on the Eyrien’s door from all sides and the people fight against the need to meet it.

Attn: EndevarThe robe, if you could call the nearly sheer gold material clothing, hung loosely around Lydiian as she stood in front of Endevar’s private room. He was inside said the servants, unless he had used the Black to sneak past them all, of which the Widow doubted. Her hair had been wrapped back, veins of hair twisted before releasing her long locks to cascade down her back, held back with tiny gold clasps. The high neck robe showed off little actual flesh though the silhouette of her body was clearly visible, each long curve and even the shape of her wings pressed onto her back. It was a dichotomy of being fully clothed yet the ability to see her full shadowed shape.

For long moments she stood there, working up courage while waiting for the right moment. It was when she finally saw a servant out of the corner of her eye that Lydiian knew she had to act. She could see the shape hesitate, obviously curious as she rapped on the door to Endevar’s office. “Prince Ranosi,” she called through the door, her voice no different than other instances she had called upon him. Sounds soon gave away the Warlord Prince and when the door opened, the young Warlord Prince revealed, Lydiian acted.

Energy surged in her limbs, fueled by the adrenaline of her recklessness and the scent of a purely male Warlord Prince. It took only a small gesture from her to untie the robe. It took only the movement of the air from the opening of the doors to slide the gold mesh from her shoulders to pool around her feet. From the corner of her eye she saw movement yet – a servant taking in the scene before them.

She stood bare to him, skin shining in the witchlight of the hallway. The gleam could have been mistaken for sweat had not the obvious odor of scented oil surround her, a blend of citrus and spice – it was as if she chose it to remind Endevar she was in fact no delicate flower. Even her most tender place was bare, glistening as the rest of her body. The only item the Green Jeweled Widow wore in front of the Black Jeweled male was a fine woven chain of gold, circling her waist and resting on her hips. Lydiian’s only defense in that moment was a sultry smile she wore on her lips.

Before surprise had a chance to lead to reaction, Lydiian surged forward her wings flaring out for balance as she rose from her bare feet to capture Endevar’s lips. He tasted of sweat and sweet, a taste she had not expected. The Widow did not let the stray thought distract her, pushing her hands into his hair as she used her weight against him, pushing him further into the room. It was a practiced movement that let her ease the door shut with her foot, a talent even.

With the sound of the door swinging shut behind her, Lydiian drew on the Green and set a small aural shield about them both. Once the spell was in place, the Widow eased her hands from the Warlord Prince’s hair, intending to stop the kiss. She had not expected her liege to be so responsive, had not expected the delectable taste of him to mix so keenly with the divine physic scent. Though her brain screamed at her to untangle herself, to stop fully, Lydiian did not, instead she only pressed on, soaking in the flavor of him. The Widow was playing with fire and did not wish to risk misstep – she knew the power of the Black – but she knew much better the power of desire and fell victim to its spell.

As usual, the Prince retired to his chamber which had become more office than bedroom of late, and had seen too much of court intrigue itself. The wine never seemed to satisfy him, not when what he yearned for was peace, oblivion, and sin. The Prince denied himself one thing while forcing himself to act in ways against his character, and carried a burden that was never truly his. As much as the pressure bore down on him throughout each day, mercilessly and brutally, chipping around - I may as well kick my brains around the floor he considered, he was forced to push onward without relent. He worried about his own mind, the Black Prince leading a nation that would never truly accept him as its son when all he wished to do some days was return to oblivion and manipulation in Hayll. There, he was seen as a thing to be used, but the life was simpler; easier. All he had wanted was given him. All thought and restraint ignored. It was all a lie, however, but it had still been his life. And though he turned away from it all like a blind man, it remained, those echoes of his identity. Gabriel Decasta was another man, but he was also the only one Endevar knew well.

This new shell was nothing but what he needed it to be, and perhaps it was the truest he had ever been, stripping away all the unnecessary actions and debasements that so distracted him once from what his jewel meant and the responsibilities it offered. Yet, still, especially as he was left powerless time and again in situations where crude force served no purpose, he wished to let free the lush and carefree youth he remembered so vividly. It was as if a part of him was screaming 'Let me out', yet he restrained himself, daily, hourly, ignoring all temptation to forget himself... except, perhaps, in wine, but even that burned so fast through his body he could barely feel its calming edge. The liquor did nothing to abate the darkness in him. Mere willpower served far better, but it ached so. Perhaps, he considered, a balance could be struck; yet he knew better. Though the idea tempted where he could have sat on a fence... but... it don't work so easily as that, he knew.

As weighed down by papers as he was, by treaty work he penned over and over, begging for aid that bitter territories would not grant, and by the vipers within his court, he felt how clearly he was under pressure, how far it dragged him and his mood, and all he could do was hope. "I pray tomorrow gets me higher than this depression seeks to drag me," he whispered to the darkness abounding, as he glowered at the papers below him. The door knocked, and his ear perked. A voice followed and he knew it was Lydiian; a mixture of responses permeated him... and while he resented her, while he doubted her, and while he did not entirely trust her, she was savvy in ways he could not be, perhaps ever. Then there were the other reactions she engendered in him; she stoked a lust in him that he was surprised to find.

Bedecked in fair fineries from Court that he had yet to doff, barring that his shirt had been loosened from his trouser and the ties of it loosened as well, and his boots removed and set elsewhere. The pants and shirt were fine, his coat was hung just within the doorway, but he was presented well enough to receive her - or any guests who sought a man in his bedchambers. Finding the door, he opened it to see her in a robe that was more window than cloth, and she was before him nearly as revealed as she could be. Or so he thought, until she shucked the robe itself, revealing her every ample curve and flush expanse of skin. Too stunned by the suddenness of it all to respond beyond the physical, he felt himself respond to the sight of her, though he could not at first manage a single word.

It turned out, in fact, that she needed no words. Why? Why?Why?[/i] He could not conceive of what inspired this, but his eyes took in each detail with meticulous awareness; she was shewn everywhere, and her body coated in a fine sheen of oil, to accentuate her every curve, every muscle and every divine stretch of dark skin, glinting in the few lights about. She was a vision and she knew it, and a gold chain was all that accentuated her form but for her hungry stare and her wicked smile. She sought to seduce him, he was sure. She showed he had no need for words as she surged forward, her wings carrying her within and claiming his lips with a certainty and passion, pushing herself inward and forcing him to back-step. Her foot closed the door behind her, setting the staff to whispers as he took her in his strong arms. A hand grasped her firm ass and held her to him, his strength significant as he held her aloft before he stumbled toward his desk, setting her down upon it as a hand slid then over her thigh with a desperate desire, while his lips responded with firm ardor.

He felt her tongue against his own as he delved within her lips, a soft moan issuing his lips from the desire that welled within him at their embrace, and for too many long moments, he was Gabriel Decasta once more. This was Hayll and a beautiful woman yearned for his body and he found himself all too eager to satisfy; the way he strained within his breaches, he knew he could make her sing despite her comfort in disregarding him for his youth. The man had been well trained and for far too many moments, his only goal was to show her how well he was; those fingers on her thigh did not remain for long, as they slid inward, brushing close along her exposed skin, appreciating the wonders of her glistening skin as he sought to make her gasp for him, and moan within his lips in turn. Yet even as his fingers explored her form, he began to realize the strageness of this all; certainly, they had shared a lust for the other. It was evident that she wished for him to take her; and it was also clear he yearned to do just that. There must, however, be a reason for this, he knew, and as he thought, he could only keep coming up with love as the only thing it wasn't.

His restraint struggled to return, but it's so slashed and torn by her siege upon his senses; the man had denied himself for over half a year now, untouched since he heard the news of his true life. She sought to free him of such frustrations and he already knew how satisfying it would be to ignore all of this, to damn sense, and to ravage his Steward violently upon his desk, as he had seen her eyes hint her desire for the last time she had been within his chambers. Even so, his demand for answers was enough to drive him to halt, and he pulled free from her, his eyes taking her in and for a half-second he was prepared to ignore his queries and throw her down face-first, before freeing himself and visiting his lust upon her... but he forced himself calm, his breath shaking with an animal lust, his body showing clear proof of his need for this.

Still he withheld. "Okay, you will tell me why you are here, manipulating me again, or this is our last dance," he warned, trying to think rationally. His lust was enough to overwhelm his anger at the idea she came here to use him for some nefarious purpose all her own devising... but it might not remain so pacifying for long, as even further frustration sets in. With slickened fingers, he took his handkerchief to wipe it clean, aware her scent would still remain marked upon his fingers.

Though she could not twine her fingers through his hair and led him by the nose, Lydiian was more than ready to twine her legs about his waist and let him lead her to the depths of their desire. For long moments only the pleasure of Endevar existed, his mouth on hers and his fingers as if playing a tune within her folds. Apparently a Hayllian education had more included than Lydiian had before imagined. While surprise rode her yet, another darker and more enjoyable feeling suffused her limbs – unbound passion.

His hands lit fire along her body, sliding along the slick oil and bringing the scent of Endevar to her nose, mixing with her own scents. It was a heady mixture of lunacy and lust, for Lydiian knew in the small part of her mind left to logic, she had to have been moon crazy to even attempt this. For the rest of her thoughts, she only though of how she could feel more of his body. Sliding hands under the shirt that prevented her heaving breasts from touching his own flesh, Lydiian raised the cloth to reveal the tone muscles under the cloth. Had she been willing to break the kiss Lydi would have had his shirt off, but he was not a full Eyrien and she had no wings to worry about. The tearing of cloth had much to do with her caste, impatient and hot emotions simmering at the surface, as well as the small touch of Purple Dusk she applied to create the magnificent sound.

Running hands along muscle and skin, Lydiian pushed her body forward, as if the movement would allow her to combine her needs to Endevar’s. Lips and tongue worked furiously against Endevar, only the barest hint of teeth sliding along his bottom lip from time to time. Lydiian could see his arousal, it would only be a matter of time before he tired of what bliss his hand could bring and resorted to something Lydiian craved even more. While she was well enamored by the ability to pull the heat of her desires to her core so easily, the Widow wanted more from the Warlord Prince – she wanted his complete hunger for her sated, wanted the male’s hunger stated by what she offered between her thighs.

When Endevar pulled away, it did not become evident to Lydiian immediately. Still she pulled at his arms with her fingers, a momentary attempt to return his heat to her body and core. It was only a momentary battle to pull him back before she turned her eyes to his face, to the truth of his bestial need to mount her reined in by his suspicion. For a brief moment she wished she was a mere witch, a woman Endevar would not have to mistrust and could in turn slack all his ability on – a well-trained ability it was – but it lasted only a moment. She could have just as well wished to see fish fly; Lydi would always manipulate, it had been born and bred in her by family as much as her society of Widows. Endevar’s words fully pulled her from her desire delirium and restarted that manipulative part of her brain again.

And so came to her calculations; so easily could Lady Dii turn Prince Ranosi against her. The casual misspoken words in his deepest moments of distrust and all her hard work for naught but removal of her position and possibly her head as well. Had she not given herself over to her own desires so readily she would have had the words off her tongue, but instead is lazed it her mouth waiting for her mind to catch up. Carefully, with a tone that hinted at her desire but held as little as she could manage, Lydiian spoke in soft words. “I wish to free us both from the incessant needs of the Court women and men that attempt to force themselves on you, or try to use me to do aid their paltry efforts to find your bed. I had only planned to use your surprise to get you alone and an aural shield placed before using my talents to guarantee when I left this room that Court would be convinced of our sexual relationship. If you do not want to use that ploy you of course have time to yet throw me from your chambers and admonish me – I believe the rumors of a rift between us would provide a respite from women and men approaching me about your bed but would not assist you…”

She spread so much truth on Endevar that the Head Bitch wondered when he would begin to discount her truth for lies. No one else was sparred her manipulations or lies, none other than Endevar was given so much honesty. While he worked to break Askavi from the bedrock it had been founded on, to make a new life for Eyriens, Lydiian bared her own bedrock for Endevar’s perusal and it was not just her body. He saw her inner workings, would eventually see how she played her game but it was the only game remaining to her. Lying to Endevar was just about as good as trying to attack him with the Green, it was futile effort and likely to see her body destroy by a riptide of Black power. Instead, she watched his dark gold gaze with swelled pupils; her desire had not yet completely abated but there was little of the predator in her gaze.

She felt the reward of his masterful touch; little had Endevar ever bothered to do in the realm of Hayll that did not involve pleasureful debauchery eventually. It was a popular prospect to have the Black between your thighs - a risky game the more daring and beautiful women saw fit to play, and the young stud saw no reason to deny them the carnal pleasures he enjoyed so deeply. Despite his short years, those which seemed uniquely inexperienced in terms of the lessons of Statecraft, there were other matters with which he had profound understanding. She felt this skill and knowledge, causing her shudders and gasps against his lips as they risked dark and desperate desire.

His shirt was torn from his body with an action of her craft, left it tatters along the floor. The thing was of difficult make, expensive and exquisite, a finery that he had tailored for him here as Eyrien attire had cuts for the wings that he was not ridiculous enough to retain. The offense of her tearing was enough to give him further action, and his tongue and hers surged against each other as he loosed any anger for her action within her lips, feeling her perfect touch racing along his burning skin. It was undeniable that he had wanted this for nearly as long as he had known the woman. She was a dangerous and cruel thing, and he avoided her for lack of wishing to be her manipulated toy like so many others she controlled through her slick folds.

They both knew what they wanted; they wanted much more than his fingers within her. Lust was evident in them both as his arousal surged, and she could smell the heady musk of his desire. It was unmistakable all that he wanted, and were her hands to wander lower than his toned chest and stomach she would find the evidence. It was beyond clear what they were both on the precipice of, but it was not to be. His paranoia was strong enough to force him to doubt her actions. This had made no sense, ultimately, and he recognized just as he was prepared to force himself upon her.

For a moment he felt that tug of her hands, trying to bring him back to her, and that moment he knew it was not all lies. Despite everything else, he knew she openly desired more, that she wanted him in body. She did not wish his heat to leave hers and that was enough, despite his doubts, to rouse him even further - a fact that also became evident for her to see once he stepped away. While he was nearly panting with desire when they broke, he needed to understand what this was. She took a moment to collect herself, and to understand that it was at least paused if not over - he saw her struggle to remember her own machinations. Something about it seemed very nakedly honest. Already justifications began to be made in his mind; she was naked before him, and glistening with need.

His own lust took a moment to clear, and he barely managed to request the answers he demanded of her, anger mixing with his lust delightfully, and it did little to completely slake those desires from him; as was evidently clear were her eyes to follow. She found her purposes and intentions, and he granted her the silence she deserved to manage free the words and explanations she wished to give him for her wickedness, for the way she threw herself upon him, for the cause of their actions. His eyes followed hers, and tried to understand her reasoning, doubting many of her words. They seemed excuse, and he wondered what that even meant.

"So," he began, to clarify, "you would have me believe that you came here to pretend at loosing your desires upon me? That your only intention was so that no woman would attempt to cross you by stealing the man you are fucking? This comes down to your grand manipulation now?" the Prince asked, his brow raised in suspicion - he was not angry at her, now, merely doubtful of her intention.

"This is an unnecessary thing for you to save me from. You know I have little issue in dismissing these whores. If you wanted to truly try this with my agreement, you would have talked to me first. What would have changed your plan? I know you fear me. You wouldn't try to use me just for 'authenticity', knowing your life is always at stake when you manipulate me," he continued, questioning it, and he stepped forward towards her, considering her again, his eyes looking through hers for answer.

"No. I suspect you may have told yourself all of these things to make the truth easier on you. You wanted to see how I would respond to you if you near forced the issue. You actually do want me. More particularly; you want me to want you. I might get your heart racing - enough so to drive you to action, and to self-deceit."

Moving forward, again, his hands testingly slid at the edges of her thighs, and his eyes danced with fire as he fell well within her personal space. "The way you turn me on... I can't sleep," he confessed, his eyes daring hers to action. If they were to make believe, he saw no reason to deny it. She had a valid plan; it would push others away. Yet if he was to be known to be sheathing his cock in his own steward, it caused him to stir; because it gave him no reason not to do just that now. "So I'll let my walls come down... and not stop at that heat which we find burning in the air when we fight. That lust which I can smell on you every time you near me. So take a chance. Just one touch. I'll let you put your hands on me," he whispered each of these words with increasing darkness to his voice, and brought his hands around to her firm ass, pulling her close to him, his lips seeking her neck, with a soft, daring kiss, while she felt him now. Felt how he throbbed through his pants.

The scent in the air, the desire - it had been eternity since he had slaked his needs, and every time the two were alone their eyes danced with a need that spoke of purpose. Another would enter the room and he would thank the Darkness for their preference, not knowing if he could control himself. Just this once, he urged himself, he would satisfy their curiosity - he would allow them their sin, and purge her from his system.

Darkly, his lips left her neck, to find her ear, and he gave her simple order. "No need to use pretty words to justify this," he informed her clearly. "Simply find the strings... and pull me from my pants... and I will know your desire, Steward," his voice darkly promised, a near purr heard in the Warlord Prince's dark voice, his breath near shaking - not from the lust... but from his attempts to control himself. It had been an eternity, and in this moment, Gabriel was returned to the fore. He knew how to taunt, how to tease, and how to make a women confess how much of a whore she would be for just a stolen moment of pleasure.

"Just one touch..." he invited, again, with lust clear in his dark, shaking breath.

Sex was a tool, a weapon and a relief. Rarely did Lady Dii have that weapon turned upon herself. Thousands of years of mastering both her own pleasures and others, Endevar was a refreshing wind of change that played on both her desires and needs of her caste. He spoke of hidden desires, of languid lies and mental missteps to justify herself. It mattered to Lydiian that he was right but the Widow did not discount that she had admitted her veiled lies in many ways to herself. Since his arrival she had looked for the advantage to be found by placing his allegiance with her or placing his cock within her, both worked for her but it was obvious by her reaction which one she preferred.

Just moments before her fingers had raced along Endevar’s skin, nails digging shallow pink furrows in their passing. What had been a sex crazed male now had changed into a man barely swallowing his own need. Lydiian craved that need as strongly as she did the need to manipulate the Court, to manipulate him. Instead she slowly eased her taunt muscles from Endevar’s ministrations, carefully she took stock of the Warlord Prince before her who had been months without the slack of sex – a dangerous Warlord Prince to have leashed his need for so long.

The Widow, no longer the Head Bitch while alone in the room with Endevar, had no retort to his accusations. What he called misleading facts to hide the truth were instead just smaller truths to hide the larger one. Never had Lydiian denied her lust for Endevar but never before had she braved her fear in such a potent manner. If anything her small misleading truths fed her minuscule bravery to dare such a ploy with a male who wore the Black. She had been about to counter Endevar’s statement, voice not a denial of her self-deceit but a proclamation that her ploy would have succeeded. Instead the dangerous ruler of Askavi touched her again, lighting the bonfire of desire anew within her – all her words fled her tongue in quick succession.

The acknowledgement of his own desires brought flush to her neck that had little to do with embarrassment but more to do with her own barely contain response. Her body begged to reach out to him; run fingers again along his golden skin and show him for all his training that she had also spent years refining her skill. Her eyes shone with a light that would only speak of need and desire, the calculation uniquely absent. Though a part of her brain begged her to think of the repercussions, to plan her move five steps in advance, Lydiian had given over to living the moment and none beyond.

Just one touch, she thought to herself. Her neck flamed where Endevar had landed his testing kiss, her thighs clenched to keep the man before her between her legs. Her skin prickled wherever his hands landed, her mind barely capable of keeping her body in check as she listened to his words. Every fiber of her cried out to be touched by him, to be filled by him. Lydiian was not a selfish lover though and as he begged her to give into her desires, to levee just one touch on him, she instead gripped the desk and smiled as a fox in the hen house.

“Just one touch,” she echoed, her voice a purr of desire to counter the darkness within his own. With a feline grace she arched forward, breasts heaving into his chest as she leveraged the oil she had applied before arriving. Sliding down his body, hands safely latched on the desk and wings folded close, Lydiian felt his arousal through her breasts before coming to face the laces that held back his cock. She spared a glace upward, her eyes smoky and lips still quirked in a smile. “Just one touch,” she reminded him before she set her mouth upon his laces.

Gently, slowly, teasingly, she worked her mouth to unlace him. It had been a skilled learned to entertain her male guests, to allude to what she could accomplish with her mouth without ever using her hands. Those hands that had been so eager to explore Endevar’s body rested lightly on her thighs as she worked. It played upon his words to use only her mouth to unlace him for Lydiian had not yet touched him with her hands. Each lace was delightful torture to her, heightening her awareness of the delicious potential that remained bound but slowly would be released. Lydiian had barely touched him by the time she had finished her task and leaned back, allowing his cock to be released into the cool air.

The sight of Endevar’s cock sent another rolling wave of desire through her, her core heating to nearly an extreme. Lydiian had not just teased Endevar with her fancy mouth work, but also herself. The sight also cemented the fact in her mind that the former Hayllian had not only pleased women with his skill, but also a well endowed member. The Widow looked up momentarily, smile gone and replace fully with only the desire to pleasure Endevar – to pleasure herself. Nothing existed in that moment beside the lust. Voice husky with her need, Lydiian spoke, barely above a whisper. “Just one touch.” With the words she gave in fully to his command and leaned forward and took the length of him in her mouth and began to show him just how skilled she was.

The ruler of Askavi was doing his best to work through the conflict held between himself and one of the two legs of his incomplete triangle. Always, she set him as opponent; always, he indulged her, mistrusting and hateful of her scheming. They were hardly unified, with little to bind them to one another except his need for a skilled politician and her need to control his power. It was this foolish dance that had led them down one path that was all but unavoidable. His hand was pushed between her thighs, agile fingers showing her a dance that was born from an education far more advanced than the brutish manners of the Eyrie. It was unmistakable that his Steward felt as similarly inspired by her opponent, the two near-rivals clashing for the thousandth time and proving a deep and underlying fire that had begun to develop in both of them. She was molten to his touch, and he all but snarled his delight at the feel of her slick folds happily parting to encourage more and deeper touch by the man she was bound to by codes entirely different than were being followed here in his expansive office.

This office was once his uncles; she knew Tasiar well, it seemed, and found his nephew at least as inspiring, he suspected. She was melting under his touch, and he felt clearly as his desire for her left him engorged with the fires of a need barely slaked since his arrival at the Eyrie. There had been only one other who had done anything to ease his fire, and he could feel his want for this treacherous woman grow every time he saw her. It was a thorn in his paw, something the predator could never quite reach, and only drove itself in deeper every time he tried otherwise. He was as hard, soon, as she was wet; the urgency of his need pressed against the loose pants he wore, just as her own slicked his touch as it drove against her. His lips seemed parched from the way he pulled them into his mouth, and lashed his tongue upon them.

He had accused her of a litany of deeds; chief amongst them that the deceiver, the snake who he now courted, truly and wholly desired him and developed some story to justify seducing him. Instead of letting this seduction play out, this battle of wills, he merely commanded her to touch him if she wanted, and he would fuck her like she so desired. He would let her have the brush with power that so inspired her, the wildness of the young Ruler possess her entire. His eyes flashed with that fire, watching her expectantly, daring her to speak up, to challenge his assertion with anything but the touch they both knew she would give. But he did not entirely expect the depth to which she would supplicate herself. The Warlord Prince, who's desire keened sharp enough that it was nearly a blade, anticipated her reluctantly committing to this all with a brush of her hand against his hardened cock. Instead, she wholly surrendered to the sin before her. His eyes widened slightly, his heart skipped, as anticipation began to grow. She purred an echo of his statement, surrendering to the desire he professed she bore, and she grasped the desk and lowered herself.

Her ruler moaned, suddenly, surprised by the pleasure he felt as her full hanging breasts let the length of him slide between their valley, or at least its impression behind her slip of her sheer golden dress. She continued down him, letting her body serve as a teasing ghost, and his hand wholly slipped free of her, wet with the evidence of her need that she was presenting even more assurances of as she dangerously dropped herself down to the ground in his office. He suspected this was not the first time she had found herself here, and right now, instead of rage, all he felt was an urge to drive from her all memories of some worse partner to her sins.

When her teeth dragged open his laces, parting his breaches, his breath shuddered out a shock of his excitement. A hand lowered to her long, Darkness deep hair, and slid through the midnight tresses while she used those same wonderful teeth to tug down the forgiving cloth. His pants pooled, then, down his thighs and hung for a moment at his knees before it collapsed at his ankles. What was revealed inspired her, and he saw as she braced herself against the wave of desire that rushed through her; her need for what lay before her granted him another resurgence of his own desire that had barely flagged in the least, his hard cock raising itself a touch at the thought of what followed. The condemning, commanding figure above her offered no words in his anticipation for what his Steward was going to grant him.

Just one touch she reminded them both, before giving far more than a mere touch as she drove herself forward to capture him within her full lips and encourage him into that warm and slick mouth that would serve as the first formal breach of the connection these two should ever share within a Court. She was to advise him; tend to his court and to his needs. He would lie if he had said he had not dreamed of her tending these needs; after-all, he had not lied when he told her that his desire to fuck her had grown all but unbearable. A hunger that had driven him from easy sleep.

The feeling of it; of that bridge crossed; was almost too much, as dark, hateful fantasy crossed into maddened reality. She consumed him, driving herself unapologetically forward to swallow him. "Teeth," he breathily solicited for more, knowing his own needs, hand twisting then in her hair to use her as stability, his other hand moving to grasp the desk's edge. Eyes did not steal away from the obscene sight before him, as he did all he could to capture these memories, so he might call upon them later. Her Prince was unguarded, all but radiating his psychic scent that was so rich in desire, but laced still with hate and resentment. Clearly, he had lowered his guard, but he had not suspended all his doubts of her: and if anything, those doubts, and those thoughts, only drove his desire to the inferno it had been fanned to become."And one ... more .... touch; for yourself, Steward," he whispered his command, breath stuttering his words under the assault he gladly welcomed of her.

That same salty and sweet taste from Endevar’s lips invaded her senses as she took the hard length of him her mouth. Though she’d been known for her large number of different partners, she relished the joy of each encounter, of the simplicity of the taste of a man. Lydiian gratefully took Endevar as deep into her mouth as she could before she pulled back and tongued the head of his cock.

She’d done the action a few times, each time taking him a little deeper as she loosened the muscles of her throat. When Endevar begged, his breath shaky, for more teeth, Lydiian didn’t hesitate. After all, warriors and politicians craved all sorts of pleasure over their long lifetime. With care, Lydiian drug her teeth along the erect shaft, making certain her saliva well coated the hard length. Each time she pulled back and took Endevar anew, she pushed just a touch harder, until she heard the Warlord Prince’s tone change to that which spoke of his limit.

And then she pushed him just a hair further.

As she performed fellatio on the most powerful man in Askavi, in the whole of the Realms, Lydiian obeyed him yet again. In what may have been first two times in quick succession she’d given into the youthful yet powerful ruler, Lydiian did not find any reason to fight it. Her robe slipped from her completely as she slipped her right hand, the one with the Widow’s tooth, to the folds of her moist cunt. Long, manicured nails found her clit as she circled the tender nub and moaned into the hard cock in her mouth. With one free hand remaining, she reached up and cupped Endevar’s balls, massaging the pair and relishing the virile feel of the Warlord Prince.

It continued like that for many moments, Lydiian pleasure herself until she slipped her fingers into her pussy. Endevar’s fingers had done a better job, but it was not the first or last time she’d pleasure herself. Crouched, her ass almost resting golden heeled stilettos she wore into Endevar’s office, Lydiian let her wings keep her balanced.

Her gaze had traveled up the chiseled body of golden flesh and dark hair. Endevar looked so much more Eyrien as she took in the man from the height of his cock. With a hunger born from the repeated dance on a knife’s edge of desire, Lydi supped on the moans she elicited eagerly. On a private thread, spear to distaff, Lydiian reached out to Endevar. If he opened to her communication, he would feel her growing need for more than her own fingers, but more than that, the need to see him. *I want to taste you. Cum for me.*

And there, even as they were both bared more truly than before, was Lydiian’s need to control something. Though her voice held askance this time, instead of instruction. This wasn’t a Steward instructing a young ruler, this was woman who was asking a man to unleash his pleasure, his passion, into her. In some ways, Lydiian felt no more powerful than when she made powerful men and women submit. It was just true that, in many times, they were far more happy to submit with pleasure than with paperwork.

His hand twisted in her hair did not do anything to dissuade her from her enthusiastic work, only encouraging her further with gentle shifts of his hard corded muscle as he guided her onward. Her ruler moaned for her, the Black hers to command from her knees, his hips shifting to force more and more of himself eagerly within her mouth and choked down her waiting throat. She consumed all of him, and in that moment, he loved her for it. The eager servant proved her devotion - and her control - by the ravenous claim she made of his manhood. It was not meager, but she did not even momentary hesitate. It struck him that she likely possessed a long lifetime of such partners; and some strange possessive jealousy all but overwhelmed him.

She worked him with an intense skill, and a powerful force; he felt himself be dragged towards pleasure rapidly, his voice shifting and breaking as his arousal peaked higher and higher yet. The only thing stopping him, in truth, was her. She kept the pace to continue her enjoyment of this, it seemed, making it last so many eternal moments while he ratcheted through echelons of pleasure, each one pushing him further up a path he doubted he could survive scaling beyond, only to push himself again as she relished in the strained cries of desire she nursed from him so carefully.

It took incredible will for him to keep his eyes upon her; every urge in his soul screamed for him to close his eyes and roll back his head and just ride the shocking sensation she was driving through him. But he remained steadfast, furiously set upon his task of etching every moment of this into his consciousness. He wanted desperately to remember the appetite he read so clearly on her as she worked fervently for her meal. He all but snarled with his need as he saw her eyes flutter at her own touch driving herself to a sweet spot of her own pleasure. But for all her own touch, she was far more focused on him, it seemed; enjoying herself but committed to nothing more than urging him to find his next plateau and shattering it, until she granted him his release.

And she urged just that, her thread sneaking into his mind, his consciousness urged against to let her in. Without any remaining cleverness or thought, he merely surrendered, allowing her to pour her thoughts into his mind. And he was starving for what she professed to him upon that thread. Both hands rushed forward, then, to grasp her head roughly, and he began to fuck his Steward's beautiful mouth. Brutally, he slammed himself back and forth, choking her hard on his cock as it was stuffed thoughtlessly down her welcoming throat. It was all so intensely warm, so perfectly slick, and she pulled just right upon him with little sucks to drag him past all point of sense and logic. There was only this moment, this pleasure, and the need to finally crest over that ridge and grant her his release.

Shaking, he called for her, "Lydiian!", head finally thrown back as he lost all thought of his own restraints, and he bucked forward to give her all of him again. He felt himself beginning, and suddenly, he shook himself out of it, and forced his gaze back to her, and pulled himself back just as his cock shuddered and released the rush of his need. Endevar wanted to see it; and he wanted her to drink it, not be choked on it poured down her throat. His most clever ally, his most treacherous opponent, and the fixture of so many of his darkest thoughts, on her knees and forced - all too willingly - to swallow him down at her own order for his offered taste.

His hands squeezed against her head, dragging through her scalp as his hips rolled, urging more and more of his pleasure free, eking out all that he could for her to drink down.

Shaking his head, he cleared his mind from the haze, as he felt the last dregs were nursed by his needful and nigh-suffocated Steward. "Mother Night, can you suck a cock," he breathed in shock, his hand almost affectionate as it turned to slide down her jaw, eyes set dark upon her. His mind cleared of his haze, his pleasure, and even some of the sweetness he began to instinctually show her. This was not over; and his resolve returned sharply. He would not be done until he had been granted every avenue of his lustful servant.

"Keep working me. Revive me. I want to watch you cum off your own touch, with my dick in your mouth," he commanded, and reached one hand back, sliding it along her cheek and then moving it to his own hips. Slowly, steadily, he began to weave a reinforcement of his own stamina and urging his body to prepare itself. She would bring him back to his arousal; and he would reward her for it.

Or punish, because at this point, he suspected there was little that would keep him from fucking her and granting her yet more of this seed.

Her name, a curse and prayer from the lips of the most powerful man in the Realms, was the reward she’d wanted, if not that day, for weeks, for months even. Their dance had been one fraught with frayed anger and tension. Endevar was young, new to Askavi, and thought that he would lead without her intervention. Then, when Lydiian had, as she’d done for decades, there was a new fight, a new issue. They were headstrong, both attempting to sail a ship all for the salvation of Askavi.

But instead, as the Warlord Prince’s hot seed entered the cavern of her mouth, Lydi smiled but did not stop. She drank him in as she ran her lips and teeth down the shaft of the man. Her left hand squeezed and caressed his sack. Her long fingers entered her hot folds as she soaked in the pleasure she could watch, her gaze up his navel and chest to his pleasure soaked gaze. In that lustful look, she found her power, even as she gave the pleasure while on her knees. His look, his hand in her formerly perfectly done hair, the taste of it, it all drove her further in the pleasure of herself. She hummed a moan through the length of him as he drove himself into her mouth with the last throes of his orgasm.

With great relish, she took his cock out of her mouth, taking a deep breath from the way his length had pressed deep into her throat. His seed was still in her mouth and she held it there a moment, savoring the flavor of him. Every man was unique, and in that moment, all she wanted was to know each and every taste, every scent of him. They’d return to their battle of wills and tempers later, but, for that moment, she was Lydiian, not the Steward, not the Head Bitch. Her right hand was busy still pleasuring herself, her fingers entering her slick folds and brushing against that spot within her. She shuddered at the feel of her fingers, the taste in her mouth, and the look of the Warlord Prince of Askavi as he recovered from his ordeal. With her left hand, she reached up to her face and push a droplet of cum that had escaped onto her fingertip and then put the digit in her mouth, swirling her tongue around, capturing the last of the taste of his seed.

“That may be the kindest compliment you’ve ever given me,” Lydiian smiled up at Endevar as she spoke, her finger rested on her plump lips as she remained crouched below him, unmoved, except for her fingers within her. Her legs were spread wide enough that Endevar would know she had not stopped the ministrations on herself.

His touch was hot on her face, and though she ached to be filled with more than her fingers, Lydiian could be patient. Endevar was young, and she smiled when he commanded her to continue. Her smile wasn’t that of a mere lover though, it was a smile of a challenge, of acceptance of the challenge, and the promise that she would be meeting him at the depth of his need.

“Of course. Your will is my command,” there was sarcasm and humor there, for Lydiian had rarely truly followed his orders. But now, when she wanted to find release when she wanted to truly explore Endevar, it was so easy giving in. Her left hand went out to encircle the softened length of him. He wasn’t utterly flaccid and Lydiian expected in no time she’d be granted his erect length anew. Her lips captured his cap, tongue rolling over the hill between head and shaft with eager greed. Her moaned onto his cock as she pumped her fingers faster, finding the spot within her eagerly. This time her gaze fluttered closed or unfocused as she felt her orgasm growing. She’d grown closer to release having just watched Endevar unleash himself with her mouth with the force, the power she’d had over him to push him to orgasm, to claim that victory and this continued one.

In this moment, she had more power over him than she’d ever had before. But all she wanted, in that moment, was the release that came from her core. With practiced ease, she worked her left hand and mouth over Endevar’s hardening length. Saliva dripped from her chin as she eagerly sucked him off. Her right hand increased the pace, and her moans did as well, a marker of how much closer she grew.

In the space between moments, she went from burning hot to consumed by feeling, unbound and bond anew. Her body and wings shuddered as she wordless screamed around the length of cock in mouth. Eyes fluttered closed anew as her features constricted before the released in languid pleasure. Long moments she fisted her left hand around Endevar’s length, using his cock as her only handhold against the shuddering of her body. Her ministrations on his length were less focused as she rode out her release, her sounds muffled by him, but likewise, the vibrations would be fully focused on the Warlord Prince’s hot member.

As she climbed down from the high of her orgasm, Lydiian reopened her eyes and slowly took the fingers out of her soaked folds. With her left hand, she continued stroking the hard length she’d revived as she took her mouth from his swollen cap.

She was smiling a Cheshire grin as she took the first finger that been in her folds and slowly put it in her mouth, licking her juices clean from the first digit. When she took the finger out, only then did she speak. “Did that satisfy you?”

Lydiian’s tone spoke that she knew the answer: he would not be satisfied, not for a long time. But in the same measure, she was prepared for the Warlord Prince to unleash the full measure of his desire upon her. Afterall, had she not cum for exactly that purpose?

She had been given her reward twice over in that moment; his voice, his lips, cursing her in his delight as he came titanically for the willful spitfire below him, and his warm cum that so filled her thirsty lips. She nursed him, urging him to let her have it all, while her hand attempted to compel from the source of his seed to give her yet more. She finally eased back, as his breathing stalled and his pleasure seemed at its end, and gazed up at him with matching lusts that spoke of a night far from over. She let herself merely keep the seed in her mouth, and he saw it from where he stood, the milky proof of his desire left on her tongue as she savored him. It was enough to make him know that this mistake would not be done only once. She was fiendish for more after she swallowed finally, and moved to find a droplet that had snuck past her lips, to encourage it back into her waiting mouth.

"It may remain the only compliment I ever give you," he responded with a stern look that broke into, very slow, a sneaking smirk. Despite his best efforts, the amusing rejoinder she offered wormed its way into his mind and produced at least a little smile of recognition. She was a clever, snarky thing; and in truth, she was the most familiar thing to him in this entire Court. The Warlord Prince reflected that this newfound lover of his would have served wonderfully in Hayll. She only served to broaden that smirk as she sarcastically and wickedly assent to his commands. She was not taking even his cruel and certain demands entirely seriously, and he found some satisfaction in that playful mockery she offered from her knees. But it was only playful; because she certainly obeyed, her next breath taken only to ensure her oxygen before she claimed him again in those skilled lps. A satisfied sigh slipped free his parting mouth as she claimed him so devotedly.

Almost immediately, his cock slowly began the task of resurrection, thickening and returning to its force within her wet mouth that had already done more than its fair share of service upon him this day. She used those perfect lips to bring him to relief; and she used them now to return him to frustration and rough need. He growled for her, as she obeyed his commands, her fingers diligent at bringing her towards bliss while also doing all she could to serve him as he had so commanded. This time, he could see, she was far less diligent in assailing him with her thirsty embrace than she was in driving herself to the oblivion he demanded of her. Which was more than fair; the Warlord Prince of Askavi may have failed to restrain himself from just flooding her mouth a second time, had she devoured him with that same relentless and fiendish appetite she had unleashed upon him just moments before.

He let his senses extend, feeling for her psychic scent, letting himself all but bathe in her lust and desire that he still felt in echoes through the thread that lay open between them even as they ignored it for the lustful shake of their breathy words. Watching her, he indulged his memories, capturing this sight of her serving him and controlling him both, pleasing him and pleasing herself just to please him further. It was a lewd, and wicked, sight that he treasured as she spiked closer to the point of her madness. It was riveting, and his eyes were unmoving and unblinking as she began to shudder, and shake. The closer she got, the more almost violently she worked his shaft, furiously pounding her fist over what of his length she could close those long-nailed fingers around. It was as much instinct, he imagined, as it was her using him for support, which only became so clear when she found her moment. His cock throbbed, hardening perfectly in her lips just as she approached her peak, filling her mouth more than full before she screamed her pleasure. And she just held onto him, to keep herself from teetering over in her pleasured. The sound of her delight, the vocality of her need, the unsteadiness she found in her release, it stunned him even as it was muffled around the thick shaft forced deep past her pouting lips. She left him impossibly hard for her, and she slipped herself free of his crown, to look up and inquire so simply. Did that satisfy you? she asked, licking her finger clean of her own juices.

The fire in him was inferno; hand still twisting in her hair, he used it then, to lift her; craft swelled, to pull her up along with his hand in her hair. It hurt, surely, as he yanked her upright, but the Red fluttered about her to propel her upward, the master of those jewels uncertain if she had the strength in that moment to stand and needing her up before him. He offered no apology, no sentiment, as he threw her up onto his desk with the swell of his power and strength of his arm. The chain hung invitingly low at her belly, as if pointing him towards where he needed to be, and he wholly conceded to the artfully angled clasps as he pushed forward. His lips drove forward to claim her throat, teeth bared and sinking into sensitive skin, as his hand moved between his thighs to find his saliva-slick shaft and guide it forward. There was not a moment's hesitation from his direction, to the moment she felt that thick head press against slippery folds, before their dance came to its culmination. After months of their hateful glowers and growing desires, he drove himself forward, and cried his need into her neck before his teeth drove hard enough to draw a copper splash of her blood across his now rubied lips.

She felt that impressive cock spear her, a task that felt like it had been looming for eternity. They had both needed this deeply, and he was enflamed with the very moment of its resolution. She was impossibly wet, her core welcoming him in beautifully snug, rolling acceptance that spoke of a body well trained to be fucked. Every reminder that he was but one of many drove him harder, and he roughly forced all of himself inside of her, pushing himself to the limit of her acceptance. Settled within, he did not waste a single moment before sliding back, to slam himself back inside of her. His lips broke from her neck, then, as his hips began to roll with a frenetic passion, the desk rattling under the force of his spiteful and hungry need that was visited so urgently upon her. Still kissed by her blood, his mouth dropped, and he pushed her back upon the desk to give him better access for his lips to close suddenly around the peak of one of these hypnotic tits that had already begun to roll delightfully from, the crash of his hips.

It would appear that his unvocalized answer to her question was no; her performance did not satisfy him, and only proved to madden him, the furious and impulsive young Eyrien ravenous as he ruthlessly fucked the woman who was meant to prove him his sound counsel.

It was so easy to gaze up at Endevar, his thick length a reminder of his lust, and forget what a powerful man he was. It was rare she found many in Askavi Darker than her Green, but she’d spent many days and nights on her knees for the former Warlord Prince of Askavi. This time though, she didn’t serve the Sapphire, she served the Black. She couldn’t recall a time that she’d seen such fire, such intensity, in a gold gaze. But then had Endevar not spurned each proffered lover, each woman or man who’d offered to share his bed.

They just needed to try to share his office, she thought, a moment before Endevar picked her up.

The tension on her hair made her cry out lightly, but more in surprise than pain. After all, the Hayllian looking man was a warrior, an Eyrien, it was only right that he knew how to fuck her roughly. In many ways, Lydiian preferred the roughness, for it assured that afterward, they would both be utterly spent and sated.

Her wings extended slightly as her shaky legs sought to catch herself. Instead, a sense of Craft wrapped around her and Lydiian remember she’d feeling nothing where Endevar was concerned, that was how deeply he stood in the Abyss. As her ass met desk, the sound of some few papers flying to the floor, Lydiian gazed fully upon the man who had come to remake Askavi. She’d called him a boy, a youth, but she’d been wrong. He was a man, in need of wisdom, but a man in full.

As the Warlord Prince of Askavi dove for her throat, Lydiian arched her breasts into him. Teeth met flesh as she shuddered and cried out in need. When the thick length of Endevar entered her sopping cavern, Lydiian rewarded Endevar with her cry of delight, her moan of pleasure, the wordlessly loud cry of a woman given exactly the thing she’d needed. Though she was still barely done with her orgasm, her legs still weakened, her quivering folds eagerly sheathed the Warlord Prince’s length. As he worked himself deeper she shuddered and clenched herself around his length, flexing the muscles within her as if to try to prevent him from withdrawing at all. The teeth at her throat came down on her skin, pressure giving way and parting her skin. The scent of blood filled the air and drove her mind from the place of calculated sexuality into a different place, one Endevar had not yet experienced. With an ache at her throat, her full cunt, and the scent of blood, Lydiian felt herself slipped into the truly raw and unbound sexuality of the Black Widow.

He pushed her back as she landed on a couple of the papers and folders. Normally she be vexed at the mess, but all she thought of now was how deep, how full she felt as Endevar pounded into her. Lydiian rolled her hips to grant the Warlord Prince superior access to her silken folds. The sounds she made as the Warlord Prince pounded his frustration and need into her were primal, no words but pure encouragement mingled with something akin to furious longing. The Warlord Prince had captured her pert nipple in his mouth, administering to her heaving breast. Her hands found the top of his back, where the wings would have been. Her fingers trailed across the top of his shoulders, but it was no light lover’s caress. No, her fingers, long and a little sharp, left bright red welts with little drops of blood in their wake. Once she finished her trail along the top of his shoulders, she positioned her fingers in the middle of his back and started again, clawing her way into his back as a way to excise the pleasure, the dark need, he’d awoken in her as well.

She didn’t have to use words to tell Endevar how much she was enjoying him. Every movement evoked a new sound, echoing thru the room as a testament to his ability. Lydiian moaned for him. Lydiian cried out for him. Lydiian screamed for him. As the tempo of Endevar worked thru her core, Lydiian felt herself growing hotter and hotter, ever closer to the precipice. Once she’d thought herself afraid of the man, but as she watched him, soaked in the scent and spice of him, she found Endevar was not as terrifying. No, becoming unmade by him, watching him unbound by her mouth and hands, that proved her to her he was not a creature of pure control. He was like her, Blood, bound thru sex, sin, and red stained lips.

She cried for him, time and again, whether from pain and surprise as he threw her onto the desk, or from pleasure as her body swelled to take the gift it had been so ready to receive. Her slick channel was snug, but sopping, proving just how clearly she had been needing this very moment. He reveled in the sensation of this touch, as he wasted no time in seeing if she could grow accustomed before he was driving her ass with bruising force into the unforgiving wood that she knew too well. Her hands moved to his back, and dug in, and he allowed it, growling as he made the wood creak under the assault he granted them both. Her breast in his lips tasted sweet, and he suckled teasingly at first, before she made it clear how much she yearned for more of that wicked touch.

He all but feasted upon her, relishing the feel of that heavy breast in his hungry lips. Those teeth dragged, scraping against skin before snapping against the peak of her breasts, those sharp nipples bitten and tugged firmly by the devouring force upon her who wished to use all of her that he could. She had compelled him, nearly, with her touch and her wry smile. She had entranced him to want only more, and more of her.

She arched her breasts into him, her back turned to grant him more for his appetite, her hands at his shoulders and down his back for their bloody, scraping leverage. The offering was too much for him to only sample one of her perfect, heaving breasts, and he drove himself between them, dragging his tongue up along the valley between that glorious flesh he needed to indulge himself within. He was growling as he drove himself between them, biting at her skin on the way back down as he trailed himself south after that lash of his tongue against her golden skin.

His lips parted, tryinjg to speak his darkest thoughts, but he found himself unable, found his voice shaking to a moan of raw desire as he drove himself through her and she clenched around him in these rolling waves of extreme muscular precision; hers was a body that needed a cock. And he was all too happy to give it. Frustrated, but needing to hear more of her bullshit, he pushed his mind into her own. The Black was sent along that thread she had opened to beg him to cum for her, and fill her pretty mouth.

He claimed her throat as he drove into her again, the side he had yet to assail, teeth sharp against skin as his hips drove hard inside of her. *Every time I came in my hand, imagining fucking this tight cunt, I was imagining your asinine, troublesome bullshit spewed from those lips until I gagged you, or until I made you scream around your fucking treacherous prattling. So talk. Make me hate you.*

The man's orders were simple, direct, and darker than he would have liked to acknowledge. But this was not an union of love, and as he merely fucked this beautiful woman on this desk, he felt his wicked hatred ebb. He felt affection grow, if only from the pure pleasure her body ripped from his. He needed more: he needed his hate. Needed the fury that she inspired like no other, so he could truly unleash upon her.

And the moment she spoke, aloud or through their link, he'd redouble his efforts, and pull his head from her neck. His eyes would flash like lightning as he took in her own gaze, teeth bared like a wolf threatening to rend while he audibly and unhesitatingly fucked her into the aged wooden desk that had been inherited. A desk she had been splayed across countless times before, and that she'd likely get to know under a new owner all too well in the coming months, and years, if he had his way.

She dug in harder, as he fucked her that much more intensely; he felt blood slip down his back, in more than mere drops, and his teeth snapped in anger and eyes narrowed sharply. A mere swipe of his hand was made, however, and her touch was no longer felt; the Red had swept her grip away from him, and she found herself lifted slightly from the desk, hanging in the air by her bound wrists, suspended by nothing but his pure power. A power she could barely even feel, yet it held the strength to thoughtlessly keep her raised in the air like she was lashed to some beam above. His hands slid then down to her hips, and began to pull her into him as he crashed himself forward, feeling his shaft thicken, feeling it throb with potential.

She garnered his hatred well, blossoming it inside his spiteful heart, and his teeth ripped his own lip open under the force of stopping himself from going one step further than would be safe. He kept himself pulled back from that edge, but only just, wanting to ride that razor's dance of hatred and lust for her without falling over either edge into a Rut that might devastate, or a Killing Edge that might see this court laid low. Doubtlessly, he was not as close to either as he thought, but the way his blood boiled, aflame inside of him, for this snake that had commanded so much of his need for so very long.

Endevar asked for something she’d given him so easily since the first moments she’d met him. He’d turned her life upside down, kept her like a pet and treated her counsel as mere suggestions. He’s stripped her power and left her floundering for purchase. She’d barbed him, nettled him, used inflection to imply he was stupid, insipid.

He asked for hate, so she gave him hate.

*No one in Askavi will ever truly follow a wingless Eyrien raised in Hayll. You will always be Hayllian, and one day, you will feel what is it to fall off your throne. Outside, the cliffs are sharp and the way down will be long.*Her mind voice was angry, a bubble up from all the moments she’d seethed in her office, furious at the child, the Hayllian, who’d usurped her Court and changed everything. She hated him even as she moaned from the feel of him within her.

The redoubled efforts rewarded Endevar with moans and her nails ripping into flesh more deeply. She’d come to him, hoping to excise the demons of their desire. Instead, she found herself excising more than just lust and need, now, she was in the throes of passion with the Black Warlord Prince. In the fog of their fucking, her mind did not race ahead, did not plot each moment, instead, she memorized the feeling of his teeth on the slope of her breast, of the pain that made her pussy clench more forcefully around Endevar’s length as she cried out in sounds that clearly mixed pain and pleasure. She was at that exact moment, full of lust and fury.

And then Endevar changed the game again. With his Craft he tied her wrists and lifted her from the desk. Her wings were freed from beneath her and reflexively expanded, not completely, but enough that they would frame her torso instead of being dutifully tucked behind her body. She growled at the change, unhappy with her restrictions and that she was unable to move her hands. She thrashed her arms, twice, before she knew that Endevar was not about to release her in that immediate moment.

Lydiian did not usually like to be utterly powerless. Unable to feel Endevar’s Craft, she was bordered on the feeling of helplessness. She floated in midair, furious, but still desperate for release. What she’d worked to keep well packed away, her barbs and acid, that was all unleashed now. He’d not severed the connection, so even as he guided her hips towards, even as his cock twitched to be sheathed within her again, she let her seething fury slip the leash. *Even though you were the Black, you are not strong enough to bear the weight of these mountains.*

Lydiian was glared at Endevar and dared him. What she dared him to do, she wasn’t sure, but she was not about to back down, not after he’d demanded her hate. After all, had she not come to satisfy the Warlord Prince of Askavi?

Long minutes before that seemed now like an aeon ago, she had stormed through the door into his office in that sheer golden dress that hung so dangerously from her shoulders. A simple greeting was offered, and he barely had time to look up upon her before she pushed at her shoulders and he witnessed the dress roll off her shoulders. This was not about affection, or kindness, or anything remotely healthy. She arrived, under false pretenses wrapped inside of false pretenses far closer to her initial lies. She was on him only a moment later, her wings balancing her, to claim his lips. It was all a deceit, and the room was suddenly theirs, privately, for some bullshit excuse. She offered a falsehood about arriving there beside him to spread rumors of them fucking.

She was always trying to manipulate him; to twist him to her goals. Her heels dug in agaisnt his every attempt to exact change, to push for progress, whispering her suggestions and louder yet her admonishing doubts. It was an endlesspoint of contention, and he resented her deeply for her antagonism.

And now her velvet walls clung enticingly to his cock, showing impressive skill and urgent desire both, as his hips crashed upon her own. He bit her shoulder, too hard, relishing the sweet rush as he pierced her flesh and felt the muscle and flesh give its copper taste. The ruler of Askavi despised his Steward upon whom he so desperately depended: she was his bedrock, one of the few who never hesitated to be direct with him and who knew the evils arrayed agaisnt him. While she was the most disagreeable creature he'd ever met, he needed her. And here, in this moment, cock sheathed inside her, he proved that he had needed her in so many other ways. The endless sight of her, her every spiteful word, only spurred a darker desire, fanning a flame he wished remained embers. But that blaze turned inferno, rushing over both of them like a wildfire as the desk creaked and shook under the violence of his lusts released upon her all too welcoming, perfect form.

She then spoke her darkest, secret truths, and he snarled his anger, louder, as his lips left her shoulder. "You are nothing but poison," he hissed. But his thoughts could barely be voiced aloud, the storm of his desire and pleasure choking the length of his words before he ever managed them. Frustrated, he channeled the rest of his dark thoughts into her own mind, the thread booming as the Black touched her consciousness, more ram than lover, just as the anger of his every action similarly proved. *I could reshape these fucking mountains and scatter you across them!* he roared into her mind upon that dangerously open link, reaching his hand up suddenly, and closing it confidently around her throat. His eyes flashed with violence, his fingers tightening dangerously, and his hips only growing more ardent in their force. Whether he was playing or not was not immediately clear, as his eyes seemed almost black in the darkness that warred through them, and his energy only grew harsher, the wood all but screaming as he impaled her upon him with such unhesitating force. That bare shaft, buried so deeply inside of her, spreading her so deliciously, grew thick with his need as he used that hate to channel only a deeper rage channeled only into this delight and sin.

And his hand slipped from her throat, dropping to merely rest at her shoulder, using it to pull her down into him as much as it was leverage for him to remain standing there as he fucked this woman who had grown to possess far too much of his darkest desire. "Yesss, nnnghh," he hissed and groaned plainly, his head rolling back and his hips pushing forward as he released himself deep inside of her. She felt his cock as it spasmed, and perhaps even the hot rush of his seed as he spilled deep within the subjet of his worst and best thoughts. His breath shook, his body trembled, but he did not stop. Forcing through his discomfort, she felt him as he continued his assault upon her. She even felt... a renewed desire, the moment he even began to flag within her. She may have satisfied him, but it seemed he was far from done, forcing his body to remain sustained and of use.

His body was slicked with its sweat, as he dove in, to claim those full lips again, ragged in his lust as she felt him groan his pleasure upon this needy kiss.

She manipulated. She connived. She toyed with the very people she promised to serve. A part of her said it was for Askavi, for her homeland. But, that was not entirely true. Lydiian played the game, and played the game very well, to satisfy her need for power, to feel the rush and thrill of winning. And as Endevar drove himself into her, a frenetic pace that promised her the full fury of his Hayllian upbringing, she felt that thrill of victory.

He’d called her poison and Lydiian had no words to counter him. Lydiian accepted his hate because she knew it was true. She would destroy whatever was in her way, and Endevar was lucky that she saw him as a tool, not an obstacle.

Lydi’s blood scent the air as Endevar bit her shoulder, causing her to suck in a pained breath that spoke of her surprise. But his pace did not flag, and Lydiian made sure that for each exquisite crash of his cock into her warm folds, she rolled her hips to assure that the heavy head of his cock pressed against that spot deep within her, the one that promised oblivion if he would just keep up the punishing pace.

As his hand encircled her neck, cutting off her ability to breath easily, Lydiian felt the first flash of fear. Had she pushed him too far? Had Endevar’s self imposed chastity unhinged him now that he was finally sheathed within her? His Jewels had her arms locked above her, her wings pressed to the desk, and her legs spread wide as he punished her pussy with his hard length. If she didn’t see the violence in his gaze, the very violence his caste promised, Lydiian would have not have given into fear so quickly. Not unused to dealing with a Warlord Prince in a rut though, Lydiian took hold of her fear and stared back at Endevar’s potential for her death.

If she was going to die that day, she was going to die bravely.

When Endevar let go, she gasped her first breath, legs shaky from fear or lack of oxygen, Lydiian didn’t know. Sweet air was a reward as Endevar continued his pace, pulled her torso down so he could fuck her as deep as he could. The fear, the brutal pace, the delightful pleasure that mixed with pain, it was all leading her body towards orgasm.

Endevar beat her to the orgasm, and Lydiian watched the Warlord Prince press his fingers into her hips as he spent himself deep within her. She could feel his fingers, promising bruises, as he groan and threw his head back. He was magnificent, unbound youth and dark power entwined. And he was hers alone in that moment. Even though she was bruised, bleeding, and nearly choked, Endevar’s hot cum was spent within her womb.

He fucked her through his orgasm and Lydiian soaked in the scene eagerly. And when Endevar bent down, claimed her lips, and continued to fuck her in a ragged pattern, only then did she allow herself release. She didn’t need words as she kissed Endevar and came apart around him. Her eyes fluttered closed, her hips rocked greedily, her cunt quivered and quaked around Endevar’s cock, and her tongue hungrily took from Endevar what he offered.

Though she’d come to bind Endevar to herself in whatever way she could, Lydiian found herself relishing the encounter. Though young, Endevar was Hayllian trained, and he’d brought her significantly more pleasure than she’d expected. There was a rough darkness about him, but as she felt the orgasm waning, Lydiian found herself eager for more.